


Tides

by milkybone



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28479981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkybone/pseuds/milkybone
Summary: “Are you crying?” Lando suddenly says. “Cause I know I am.”
Relationships: Lando Norris/Carlos Sainz Jr
Kudos: 32





	Tides

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and happy new year everyone! It is my first carlando fic in English, not very well written but I do hope you enjoy reading it!!!  
> Moving on to 2021 guys, I wish Carlos and Lando a fantastic new season :))

Tides

Carlos never knows ending a season would be this hard. And falling out with your teammate just before the race certainly did not help at all.  
He didn’t know how did all this started, or maybe the time bomb is always there, two cute puppets, two messy dirty festive hot chocolates and hundreds of farewell words did not demolish it. Maybe they are both holding back all the doubts, the envy and all the competitive ambitions, just to hope that it will only explode till the very end.  
And obviously, this is the very end, it is this moment. Their “end”. The end of Lando and Carlos. Lando used to think more positively: At least none of them has retired, the new season will resume in a few months. After a few years-- Who knows? Maybe they get to be teammates again. But now he knows, clearly knows, as clear as seeing the five red lights go out, he knows: They will never be the same. This is the end.  
Or maybe they are just like any pair of teammates in the paddock, just driving the same car in the same suit. They never are “the closest, the unique” pair. Their relationship is overrated. By others, and more by themselves.  
And so Carlos said it, loud and clear. He is always so god damn honest on others’ matters and being a coward on his own problem, Lando thought to himself.

“You know we are not as close as they say,” Carlos says.

“Ha, thanks for the reminder.” Lando just couldn’t lose this battle can he, “Glad that we can at least agree on this.”

Most of the time they really get along, even when Lando is mad at Carlos, he still cannot deny it. They are like real brothers, they read each others’ mind, they complete each others’ sentences. But the other times, just those tiny few little moments, Lando knows that Carlos just doesn’t give a damn. He doesn’t care at all, about Lando, the team, or anybody. Only himself.

Lando hated these moments’ guts. He hated that Carlos excluded him, treated him as a stranger with malicious intentions. He wanted to ask him, whether hysterically or apathetically: Are we even friends?  
He is scared that the answer may drown him. What he didn’t tell Carlos is, but I do think we are as close as they say.  
Or maybe his wishful thinking is just oblivious: after all, the end of the season is just a pause for him, but Carlos chose to leave. 

Carlos desire that unfettered sense of belonging that Lando has in McLaren, the ones that they used to share. And sometimes, the desire will turn into envy. Lando is young, energetic, and as always. Carlos feels old. That little Carlos sitting in a go-kart dreaming to be a WDC will only show up now when the win is reachable.  
But Lando, Lando is everything that you could think about “young”. The morning, the sun, and a breeze. Carlos like him, cherish him, of course. Who wouldn’t? Even if it is built on consuming his self-esteem.  
He doesn’t seem to be able to like Lando and himself at the same time. And that confuses him. Carlos doesn’t like the feeling of this, he like those tight-griped securities that are surrendered to him. Even if it feels like the car goes on the wall and he doesn’t let go of the steering wheel in time. He needed that sense of security. That tight grip.

Lando is being Lando in front of the camera, while he sits in the back, all silently. He refuses to be part of the camera, and part of the atmosphere that he was so familiar once.  
When you know you will lose something for sure, the goodbye will never be out of your mind. Even when it's far away, and you are having a decent time right now. There is no second chance, is there? People always said Carlos is a steady driver, which he is proud of. But his anxiety gets the best of him, overtaking him at the end of the season.

So yes, they are not as close as they seem. But Carlos knows better: This is his fault rather than Lando’s. Yes, he has that Ferrari seat, and it was what he always wanted since a child. But everyone knows the deal, including himself. “Wingman” is what people would call him, and he can’t even be the P1 in wingmen. He usually wouldn’t care what others would say that much, but the thing is that those comments have also tamed him. Lando is in his second year and drives almost as good as he is. He is only 21, he can achieve the things that Carlos want, that every driver wants, he can be a world champion. But what about me? Carlos wonders.  
His season is not so bad, but that’s it. And this could be his best season ever.  
He is prisoned in this thought.

Carlos knows how to deal with anxiety, he has spent the countless night with it. But not when his rival is so lovable that he might love him himself. He doesn’t know how to stop thinking “I am not enough” when he is around Lando. This is new, and he lost all his strategies. The tides coming up and buried him-- the warm tides that streams all over him, over his limbs, into his head. The tides are soft and tender, but he is out of breath.

They parted ways. No video together, no golfing together, no breakfast together. Nothing left.

None of them escapes the tides. Until the race is finished.

Mcl35 is standing in the pit lane, alone, silently. The rest of the team are preparing for the party. Carlos leans on his car, His Car. A huge 55 printing on the McLaren orange. The fireworks are still going, Carlos pats his car, like two soldiers under the night sky.

Someone is escaping out of the garage, standing close to him. Carlos looks back, he did not expected this, but it makes perfect sense. Lando is standing there, next to his car. A huge 4 printing on the McLaren orange. He is not leaning on the car, but just standing there, with his head up high, looking up into the sky. His hands hide in his sloppy sleeves, and the wind tickles his hood.  
The firework is still going. Carlos didn’t say anything. He can’t see Lando’s face, so he wasn’t sure if Lando wants to talk to him.

In the McLaren duo dynamics, the older one has never had the upper hand. He would say some mature boring things that almost sounds like preaching. And Lando would agree all loosely, carelessly, giving the best response possible. But Carlos knows it very well that Lando is actually the one who is leading. Lando is willing to show him respect as a more experienced driver in front of the camera and make himself looks like a dumb newbie, a child. Carlos knows this can all happen solely because Lando allows it to. When Lando cringes and says “That’s not right”, whether to him or to others, Carlos would be completely lost. He doesn’t know the Lando like this, he doesn’t like the look of this on Lando, and he doesn’t know what to do in front of this Lando. The tides are coming in again, it has turned cold, and it washes out his thoughts again and again.  
Lando gives the permission for him to enter his circle. But it is Carlos that wandering outside the entrance, never dare to reach out and touches him.

“Are you crying?” Lando suddenly says. “Cause I know I am.”

Carlos thinks of his dreams. His dreams of those cliche movie scenes. Lando is looking at him across the pillow, the sunlight blurs his face. He thought if this scene will ever happen in real life, he would gladly put it in his biographical film. And if this does not turn out to be real, he will just pretend that it does and put it in his movie. He will find an actor that is so different from Lando, so no one would know that is Lando. He dreams about Lando.

That’s when he realizes, that face under the sunlight, across the pillow, is crying.

Carlos thinks about all those questions they didn’t answer, those words they avoided intentionally, all those “Are you gonna miss him”.

“Our time has come!” He remembers his first podium, him and Lando on the podium. His voice conquered the noise of the frantic crowd and washes to Lando’s ear-side. The planet smells like champagne, and the sky is on fire like in revelation. That was the happiest moment of his life. It still is. Lando standing next to him smiling all proudly. Proud of him. 

Our time has come. He thinks about the sentence again. Thinks about all the things that happened between these sentences that are completely same, and yet means so differently. All the things openly and privately, all the secrets that he keeps.

He can finally breathe again, fully and lively, like the way he pours in champagne in the middle of the surrounding crowd. 

People ask him why does he do better when started in the rear position, he said he just like the feeling of nothing to lose. When you have nothing to lose, you’ve got to push forwards.  
He feels like nothing to lose. Here and now. He wants to reach out to Lando in the bubble, or maybe he never lost anything at all.

Are you crying, Lando asked him. Cause I know I am. Lando said. The warm tide flushing in his left chest again. He still has no idea how to act, but he dares to speak before his sense come in.

“Come here.” He says, as the only words he can say, low and tender, almost like begging. Lando goes around his mcl35 and comes to his side, like the countless day and nights they shared together. Carlos sighs, and carefully wraps around him. “Soy lago,” he says, surrender quietly by his ear. 

Lando sniffs and fully filled in his arms that are too afraid to hold tight.

The tide has fallen. And so does the night. Carlos and Lando, Lando and Carlos. No others would know which two names have been forever written in the sand. 

The tide has fallen. And so does the night.


End file.
